


I Love You, Too

by dementorsatemysoup



Series: Post Season Four [4]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: An Overuse Of The L-Word, Bipolar Disorder Mentioned, Fluff, Ian's POV, Liam Being Adorable, M/M, mickey being mickey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 20:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1563026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dementorsatemysoup/pseuds/dementorsatemysoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Mickey showed his love through his actions, and the one time he actually said the L-word.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Love You, Too

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying out new POVs for this show, since primarily most of my stories are in Mickey's, so here's something new for you to read.
> 
> Thanks for reading, drop me a comment if you can, and I still don't own these characters.
> 
> BYE!!

** ONE **

Growing up with Fiona as a pseudo-mother, Ian had heard the l-word a lot. His sister always wanted her younger siblings to know they were loved, whether she said it verbally or with hugs, and Ian tried to follow Fiona’s example whenever he could.

Mickey, on the other hand, grew up in a household full of fear and anger. Ian doubted anyone had ever used the l-word around him, and that left him nearly incapable of actually saying the words back. But Ian didn’t care; he didn’t  _need_ Mickey to actually  _say_  the words. He showed his love with his actions.

Standing his ground with Fiona might not have been the best decision, Ian knowing firsthand what they dealt with when Monica had her episodes, but he hadn’t exactly been in any position to make Mickey see reason. Eventually, whether it be from exhaustion or worry, Mickey finally relented and they took Ian to the clinic, got him some help other than Monica’s leftover pills, steered him down the path to recovery.

Later, after Debbie told him what happened with Fiona, Ian asked Mickey why he did it, and the dark haired guy snarled, “Don’t ask stupid fucking questions.” While his tone said one thing, his eyes said another, and Ian understood perfectly why Mickey did it.

“I love you, too,” Ian replied softly, too quiet for Mickey to hear, before kissing the side of the guy’s head and leaving the room.

** TWO **

Any normal person probably would have kicked Ian to the curb. He still had mood swings, sometimes even forgot to take his meds, but Mickey somehow tapped into a never ending supply of patience. When Ian forgot his meds, Mickey would track him down and make him take them. When Ian had one of his bad days, Mickey would sit with him, sometimes he’d read, other times he’d talk. Most of the time they just sat in silence, Mickey’s hand in Ian’s hair, a constant reminder to the redhead that he wasn’t alone.

Mickey always fell asleep first, sitting up, head tilted Ian’s way, breathing slow and even. Ian would watch him, torn between letting him sleep and waking him, not wanting to hear him complain about a stiff neck in the morning. The former won out most of the time, and Ian would leave Mickey asleep, knowing he didn’t get nearly enough sleep to be considered healthy.

Before he fell asleep, Ian always whispered, “I love you, too.”

** THREE **

Mickey would drink from the carton sometimes (okay  _all_  the time), and Ian would show his disapproval by walking into the kitchen, pulling a glass from the cabinet, and slamming it down in front of him. The shorter boy always ignored the glass, but Ian knew he saw it.

“Would it kill you to use a glass for a change?” Ian asked from the kitchen table, flipping a page in the book he had been skimming, forgoing actually grabbing a glass this time.

“Would it kill you to stop nagging me?” Mickey retorted taking a gulp from the orange juice carton. “Besides, it’s not like we haven’t swapped spit before.”

“It’s still disgusting,” Ian muttered putting his book down, pushing himself to his feet. He carried his coffee mug to the sink, pouring the last, cold dregs down the drain, adding the mug to the dirty dishes.

“Get the fuck off my back,” Mickey grumbled putting the juice away.

“Ian’s right, asshole, it’s disgusting,” Mandy yelled from the couch, a bowl full of Corn Pops balanced on her knee.

“Fuck off,” he shouted back looking at the clock on the wall. “Look, I’ve gotta go to work. Reel in the bitchiness before I come home, okay?” Mickey headed towards the door, stopping just long enough to say, “And make sure you take your medication.” It’s the only indication that he’s not nearly as mad as he’s letting on, usually storming out without so much as a word after their stupid arguments, and to Ian it felt a little like a victory.

When the door slammed behind Mickey, Ian leaned against the counter and said, “I love you, too.”

** FOUR **

The regulars at The Alibi accepted him and Mickey, some reluctantly, others readily, but sometimes Kevin would get a passerby, someone who wasn’t quite a regular but knew the bar well enough, and they’d take one look at Mickey and Ian in the corner and make a snide comment.

Most of the time, the comments went unnoticed, Mickey usually arguing with Svetlana or one of the other girls, Ian too busy dealing with Yev to react, but there are those rare moments when the words are said at the wrong (or right) time. They float over to Mickey and Ian, and the shorter of the two would react.

“I see they let  _those_ people out of their cage,” a woman stage whispered to her friend.

At first, Ian actually thought Mickey didn’t hear the comment, but he’s proven wrong when Mickey stood and moved towards the women. He got in her face and hissed, “You’ve got something say, you say it to my face.”

She gave him a sneering look, but didn’t say anything, and he backed away from the table roughly, rattling their glasses, returning to Ian’s side. Seething, Mickey leaned over the counter, snatching a beer from underneath the bar, and Ian rested his hand on the shorter boy’s shoulder, murmuring, “Let it go. Just let it go, Mick.”

“Fucking bitch needs a swift kick in the head,” Mickey grumbled sitting heavily on a barstool, popping the top off his beer, taking a swig. “Should sic Nika on her ass, they wouldn’t find her body.”

“Hey, let it go,” Ian repeated moving his hand up to grip the back of Mickey’s neck. “Why don’t we get out of here?”

“Fine,” Mickey relented after a short pause, getting to his feet. “Just lemme tell Kev we’re leaving.” Mickey turned to walk away, but stopped, his eyes settling on the woman. He stood still for a moment, just glaring at her, but finally he turned back to Ian, grabbing his face and giving him a quick kiss. “Hope the twat enjoyed the show,” he grunted against Ian’s mouth and pushed away, moving towards Kevin.

The woman had a sour look on her face, scowling at the table, and Ian fought a smile, his eyes tracking Mickey’s movements. “I love you, too.”

** FIVE **

Ian still worked at the club, but he had requested he be moved to permanent bartender instead of dancer. It made Mickey happier and the novelty of being groped sort of lost its appeal when Ian started taking regular meds. Mickey still didn’t like that Ian worked at the club, spent most of his time trying to convince the younger boy to quit, but Ian wasn’t ready to resign just yet.

It’s not uncommon for Mickey to sit at the bar, nursing a drink, glaring at anyone who even remotely thought about hitting on Ian. Usually the guys would get the hint, leave Ian alone, but sometimes they weren’t exactly the brightest bulbs.

“Hey, Red, can I buy you a drink?” a slurred voice asked over the music, and Ian looked up to see an older, gray haired man leaning against the bar.

“No thanks,” he called back. “What can I get you?”

“How’s about your phone number,” the guy replied smirking smugly.

“Last I checked, that’s not a drink,” Ian retorted with an easy grin, turning to see another customer waving his way. “I’ll tell you what; I’m going to go take that man’s order. You let me know when you have an actual drink in mind!” Ian walked away, very much aware of Mickey approaching the guy, a scowl on his face.

Ian knew he didn’t need Mickey to fight his battles, knew damn well he could handle a drunk guy or two, but it felt nice to know Mickey cared enough to try and scare away the mild annoyances in Ian’s life even if three more tried to hit on him when Mickey went to the bathroom.

“Piece of shit,” Mickey grumbled in irritation when Ian approached him a few moments later. “When do you get off again?”

“Three-thirty,” Ian called back pouring Mickey another drink. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

“Fuck off,” Mickey retorted picking his glass up. “I’m fine.”

“Alright,” Ian answered moving away from Mickey. “I love you, too.”

** SIX **

Ian jumped at Liam, mock growling, and he giggled, running away. He returned a few seconds later, brandishing a paper towel roll. Liam let loose a war cry, attacking his brother with the roll. With a fake groan, Ian fell down and pretended to die.

“Alright, pipsqueak,” Lip said grabbing Liam mid-attack. “You won. Let’s get you ready for bed.”

“I won!” Liam announced happily.

“Yeah you did, buddy,” Ian replied with a smile, accepting the hand Mickey offered him, easily pushing himself up with the aid. “Good night, Liam.”

“Love you,” Liam called as Lip carried him up the steps.

“Love you, too,” Ian called back, picking up the toys Liam had scattered across the room. Mickey took a seat on the couch, watching the younger guy, a small smile on his face. “What?” Ian asked curiously, a ratty, stuffed dog in one hand and a plastic drum in the other.

“Nothing,” Mickey stated shaking his head. “We staying here tonight or going back to my place?”

“Lip asked me to watch Liam tomorrow morning, so I’m staying here.” Ian put the toys away, adding, “You can head home if you want.”

“I’m good.” Mickey grabbed a magazine off the table, flipping through it. Ian turned away, continuing to clean up the living room. He found three, plush balls under the table and tried juggling, managing to hit himself in the head with one of them.

Mickey snorted, shaking his head, and casually said, “I’m in love with a moron.”

“What?” Ian dropped the other two balls, his eyes wide. He snapped out of it a second later, grinning.

“Get that look off your face. You look like a jackass,” Mickey grumbled looking down at his magazine again.

“You’re such a romantic, Mick,” Ian retorted heading into the kitchen. “You want a beer?”

“Yeah.”

Ian grabbed a beer and a soda from the fridge, returning to the living room, stopping in the entryway. He watched Mickey for a second, the shorter boy chewing his fingernail as his eyes scanned the words on the page. Softly, Ian called, “Hey, Mickey.” Mickey looked up, eyebrows raised expectantly. “I love you, too.”


End file.
